


Bloodstone

by CatieBrie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark fic, I'd say dub-con but I'm tagging it noncon to be safe, M/M, Mind Fuck, Oral Sex, PWP, birthday fic, curse magic, i have no idea how to tag this, mild body horror (that tongue tho)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatieBrie/pseuds/CatieBrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your heartbeat is rather slow,” Tom says, then curls his fingers so that they dig in, nails biting and the heat flaring solar-sharp in the marrow.  Harry gasps and arches, toes curling in his shoes.  He can feel the thudding in his chest increasing—thu-thump, thuthump, thuthumpthuthumpthuthump—and he thinks for a moment the fear is back but the hand travels up to his neck and his skin raises and tightens with electricity and it’s not fear at all that draws out the tiny little groan as fingers skirt his pulse point and press down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodstone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jinglebell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinglebell/gifts).



> Happy birthday Jinglebell! I hope you enjoy (and I blame you for thrusting me into this ship--I didn't expect to love it so much)!
> 
> I'd say check the tags, but I'm actually not sure how useful they are...

Harry sits up, unsure of where he is, body aching and heavy.

He thinks he’s been here before.  Like a forgotten dream, the walls crowd around him familiar and unknown.

“Welcome back.”  The voice is a hiss, the sound high and scraping along Harry’s teeth.  An undercurrent, something much closer to human, settles into his bones, honey thick.  He thinks of journals and red eyes and green. Brilliant green. He tilts his head to the side and wonders where his fear has gone. Did he lose it?

“Where am I?”  The words drip from his tongue and he knows he’s said them before. _Deja vu_.  He’s still sitting, doesn’t much feel like getting up, really.  There’s a heat in his chest he doesn’t like—it spreads, bit by bit along his ribs before soaking into his spine.  He looks down and a hand spreads across his sternum, pale and elegant. Glancing up he recognizes the face peering at him, dark eyes shifting infinitesimally--transitioning from midnight to violet to magenta to scarlet and back again.  “Tom Riddle?”

“Your heartbeat is rather slow,” Tom says, then curls his fingers so that they dig in, nails biting and the heat flaring solar-sharp in the marrow.  Harry gasps and arches, toes curling in his shoes.  He can feel the thudding in his chest increasing— _thu-thump, thuthump, thuthumpthuthumpthuthump—_ and he thinks for a moment the fear is back but the hand travels up to his neck and his skin raises and tightens with electricity and it’s not fear at all that draws out the tiny little groan as fingers skirt his pulse point and press down.

“There we go,” Tom murmurs, pleased and low-voiced. Harry lifts a hand, meaning to push Tom off, to ease the heat in his stomach, to learn where he is—anything but what his hand actually does, dark fingers gripping expensive fabric and pulling Tom closer. For one fleeting moment that pale, handsome face splits around sharp teeth, outline stuttering over something utterly inhuman, perfectly serpentine. A snapshot of a future passed, glittering and pointed and raking along his vision until everything is occluded and lips are pressed to his and heat erupts along every pore.

There is a brief moment, mouths crushed together violently, that Harry wonders how Voldemort became Tom but that melts away with the sharp press of teeth, the saliva slick of tongue. Harry tries to balance himself and finds his free hand burying in bedclothes, bitten nails catching on the threads of a worn duvet. His mouth feels too full until Tom breaks the kiss, leaving Harry gasping and empty.

Tom bends over him, one hand against his throat, the other wrapping around his wrist and squeezing, driving him back until he is flush against the fever-scorch of Tom’s torso and the threadbare blanket beneath him.  The air, musty and thick with dust reminds him of something but Harry can’t remember what—not with the full, blazing heat of Tom between his legs, pressing down and grinding up.

“Where am…” Harry tries again but cuts the question off with a groan, loud in the echoing room. Tom grins, perfect white teeth a beacon above Harry, drawing him back into a kiss.

He should not trust that mouth but the flesh-sweetness of Tom’s tongue, the give of his lips; they are inescapable.

With glasses pushed away and skewed across his forehead, Harry imagines he kisses himself. The room is dark enough that hooded eyes could be any color, the curled black hair could be unruly and flyaway, that full lips curve against themselves, heady and incestuous. Then Harry sees red, a true snake-eyed crimson that blinks above him and he knows the truth of it all.

It doesn't stop his cock straining against denim, doesn’t stop heavy breathing and helpless writhing. Flesh white, flesh dark, flesh waxen and unreal and scaled—it all flashes above him but Harry rolls up, running his tongue against fire hot skin and bending his neck into the press of long nails.  His inhales come ragged, his vision darkens and tunnels down to spots of red, sliced through with widening, slitted pupils.

“You know where we are.” Sharp teeth graze down Harry’s cheek, the points of them digging into the divots his pressing fingers have created into Harry’s neck.  Harry’s breath comes heavier, thicker and harder to draw in. He sinks further into the the bed, one hand forced into the mattress, dragged up near his ear and the other grabbing the soft black robes of Tom above him.  He should push away but instead he continues to pull, their bodies crushed against each other, no room for Harry to squirm nor writhe away.

“I—” Harry starts but then the rooms around him starts to look familiar, vaguely shimmering with memory. In one corner a crib, long disused and eaten by elements casts nightmare shadows against the walls; a cracked window forces a breeze into a howl.

Cold slides along exposed skin, pricking awareness and panic into his pore, screaming green dancing in the corners of his eyes, the whirls of his ears.  Then it softens, shadow dull, and he shudders.

Tom laughs into his neck, rolling his hips and chasing the chill away from Harry with a consuming fire. Harry sobs and pulls and cants his hips up, desperate for a friction to chase the shades away. The laughter is high and cold and cuts through the strangled sounds Harry makes, a hand closing tighter around his throat.

He can’t breathe and he thinks this is a good thing, his vision darkening for a moment as Tom holds him in place and ruts in lazy, hard thrusts against Harry’s thigh. Harry’s racing pulse thuds in his throat, matched in throbbing time along his cock.

He still doesn’t feel the fear, even as the spots in his eyes converging into a blanket of smoky black. The hand holding his wrist lets go, and drags up his arm, down his chest as Tom arches away. Harry’s  clothing parts, skin beneath it doing the same in thin lines of red. The sting jolts at his core and silence curls off his tongue in the shape of a keen.

“It didn’t take long,” Tom says as his fingers find the waistband of Harry’s denims, popping the button free and tugging the zip down to its termination. A wide, scorching palm presses against Harry through his pants, and Harry thrashes.  “to convince you this was the better course of action.”

The words make no sense, but hit on something like they should.  Pleasure intense enough to mock pain scatters his thoughts and leaves him gasping.  His breath comes and leaves in painful rasps and it is only then that he realizes the hand is no longer leaving bruises on his veins and he can see again.  The world spins and snaps around green light and red eyes and a skirting, ever elusive familiarity.

“You fought beautifully.”

Harry’s lips form a question, but Tom has travelled low down the bed, grinning, sharp hands dragging jeans all the way off the length of Harry’s legs, lines of silver and pink a complement to the new strings of violent red.  His brain sluggishly tries to surface, jarred into remembrance—screaming and fighting, curses bright and the world falling away every night to the same room, the same bed, the same crib in the corner and grinning face level with his.  Each night leaving him more tired than the next, broken down and sore and—

Tom opens his mouth, breathing heat against Harry’s cock as he tears away the last barrier between it and the freezing air.  The tongue peeking between sharp teeth is split, a shiny black at the tip that melts into vibrant red within the cavern of his maw.  Harry has both hands dug into the duvet, chin bent to his chest to watch as that tongue snakes along the length of his erection, slick slide of heated pressure before Tom’s mouth follows. He can’t remember.

He can’t.

He can’t breath again, invisible fingers wrapped against his throat in perfect mimicry of before, fingertips placed exactly where each bruise bloomed.  Tongue and lips slide slick against Harry, fingers digging like briars into his thighs. Harry makes those softly choked sounds again, back raising up from the duvet, hips arching into suction and that pleasure-pain he can’t differentiate between.

He should expect it, when his body spasms, curling in on itself, muscles rippling and burning in time with a violent flash of emerald. But he doesn’t and so he sobs, sucking in air as the invisible fingers give way and the real, barbed ones dig in deep.  His vision blurs scarlet and green, his lungs leak air like acid into his throat, he claws at nothing feeling utterly, comprehensively unraveled and used up.

The heat leaves him first, then the room around him, the walls melting down to something empty. Tom smiles, tongue swiping across his teeth, his lips before he pulls back, dissolving into the darkness.

“See you again, Harry.”  

Harry sits up, unsure of where he is, body aching and heavy

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://catie-brie.tumblr.com/) where I would love to answer questions, comments, chats or just have you as a friendly stalker. It's also where I periodically post about fanfic I am working on. I bounce between Harry Potter and BBC Sherlock pretty regularly now.
> 
> Kudos and comments, as always, are greatly appreciated.


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